


Frankness

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Cas is 17, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues (Supernatural), Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel's Nickname is Cass (Supernatural), Daddy Kink, Dean Winchester Has Daddy Issues, Dean Winchester is Older Than Castiel, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dean is 30, Destiel - Freeform, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gabriel is a bully, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Romantic Fluff, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Set in Kansas, Shower Sex, Smut, Top Dean Winchester, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural), but dean is married dun dun dun, cass' mom is dead, castiel has a slight daddy kink, crushes harder than a 12-year-old, i know this will exude chaotic energy, lisa is cass's only friend in school, no bdsm yet still far smutty, overtly protective, pretty much every sort of sex available
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28212525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Castiel moves out to Lawrence where he runs across a 30-year-old man of attractive features by the name of Dean. They develop a delicate relationship that first starts out as a friendship and later on shifts unexpectedly into an intimate bond for which neither is unprepared.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	Frankness

**Author's Note:**

> No way is my English competent. So, I warn you beforehand that you will highly likely run into some cringey mistakes here. You might cringe at the way I strung unfitting words together or simply grammatical mistakes. In case you're disconcerted by the age gap, just don't read this fic.

I plowed my way through the dimly lit street to the bar. Four hours prior I had pondered over indulging myself in the bar since a pile of nerve-racking homework had plagued me with utter exhaustion, plus, I'd just needed to take some time off. Not that I had been side-stepping school, of course.

The weather practically resembled that of a typical _winter_ night in Switzerland; nonetheless, unlike the other night, there was no freezing gush blustering fiercely throughout the town this time. Although it had been next to midnight, no-one seemed to be bothered by the late hours. Every and each local reveled in various activities, having quite some great fun.

The bar sluggishly appeared in my peripheral vision, as I strode at a slack pace along the pavement that had been doused with clusters of raindrops. I squinted my eyes further in order to get a better glimpse of the little building - it appeared that there was hardly any hustle and bustle, to my relief.

By the time I had gained the bar, I merely loitered ahead of it spellbound by the charm of the old-fashioned yet quaint building. The creamy-colored lightning casting out through the English windows illuminated the street rather adoringly. The early Jazz track resonating across was the most fitting music for the tiny bar, I had thought.

As soon as I had trodden in, a pleasant scent that I couldn't quite place struck a catchy image of that very cake that my mother had used to bake in no time whenever I would feel rotten. After a bit, I snapped out of those memories and slid on the barstool to my right. It dawned on the blonde bartender a tad late that I was standing after him, staring blankly at his rear; he then turned around to me and promptly wore a snarky half-grin.

"I gotta see your ID card. That is, if you even have one." he jibed at me in an off-hand way.

I stuffed my hand into my pocket in hopes of him not heeding that I was indeed underage. I carded my hair and twirled a sprinkling of it around my index finger out of anxiety, as I beat the bushes for the card. I eventually plucked it off of my pocket, passing it over to the bartender afterward.

"What'd you like, kiddo?" he demanded and handed me the ID back.

"O-one shot o-of Ardberg w-whisky, please," I stammered.

"Ain't that a little too robust for ya?" he asked with aplomb.

"N-nope." I mused in a stumbling voice.

He then nodded acceptingly toward me and vanished abruptly. At that point, I was still in a state of confusion. Was the bartender going to inadvertently bring a shot of whisky in spite of my age? Or did he take notice of the fact that the ID of mine was actually fake but just didn't give a crap about it?

Later on, I saw the bartender strutting toward me with a confident gait; he stuck the bottle carelessly on the table and zipped off after. Just as I was about to grip it, I caught a shrill female voice springing from behind. It tickled my curiosity and I swiveled briskly.

A couple of brown eyes of a young woman looked right into mine. I shuffled uneasily on the barstool because of the way she leered at me intently. I backed a bit off to get a better glance at her. Her skin was cold and pale. Her eyebrows were immaculately trimmed and she had a well-arranged facial shape. Gauging by her appearance, she was perhaps in her mid-to-late 20s.

"Would you like to be happy, darling?" she asked pertly, swinging both her hands in the air as if floundering about in the mud.

"W-what do y-you mean by _happy_ precisely?" my voice quivered iffily.

"You know to a hair what I'm trying to say, darling," she quirked an eyebrow, sneering impishly.

She unexpectedly trailed a hand over my ass and clutched onto it securely. At that very point, my whole body was firmly shackled as if at bay, not lurching in the slightest. Nevertheless, after a brief span of time, a husky male voice popped out of nowhere.

"Get your dirty hands off him, saggy bitch!" a man hailed with a plangent voice.

The beaming look of the woman swiftly shifted into a grimace full of disgust, while I was confoundedly peering at that _man_ through my narrowed eyes. He was indeed a bulky man of attractive features. He towered over me with his broad shoulders. His blonde spiky hair stuck out at each angle; he had _rugged_ good looks patently. 

But, the most _alluring_ aspect of his snazzy looks was those _green_ eyes - so green that I desired to leap into them. His gaze was fastened on me directly. He smiled at me assuringly. 

I was smitten with this man.

"Who the fuck are you, you protective asshole?!" the feral woman fumed.

"I happen to be his big brother, now fuck off." the man sent a dismal glare of dislike crisply.

The man then unanticipatedly clasped me rigidly in those muscular arms of his. I propped my back in his chest. Never in my life had I once felt poised to such an extent; I was like a bird flapping its wings freely through the air.

The spited woman spat belligerently on the floor and sashayed out of the door. After her departure, the man gently dragged his hand off, whereas I felt a slight twinge of disappointment in my stomach. All this came as a total surprise.

"Thanks for going to bat for me," I muttered, twiddling my fingers in a teetering way.

"No worries, buddy," he remarked ebulliently.

He sailed forward as if in a blur right beside me to settle on the barstool before me. 

"So, are you gonna drink that?" he inquired with an effusive half-smile.

"Umm... yeah, but, in case you'd like, you can have it." I was intent on holding my gaze on the floor as I could hardly bear his profound stare.

"Thanks, bud. Seems kinda rad," he quaffed the bottle right off the bat. 

"You're welcome," I muttered sheepishly.

"So, are you new here? I've never seen you in this bar ever before." he wiped his lips with his wrist.

"Yeah, just moved here the other day. I'm Castiel, by the way." In spite of my steep anxiety from before, I could talk to him at full ease currently. He was certainly one of those amicable and rakish people you'd pine after to hang out with.

"I'm Dean. Gladenned to meet you, kid." he offered a handshake that I took far decisively.

"From where did you roll all the way up here?" he pressed on with his innocuous questions. He seemed far intrigued by our conversation.

"Langsing, Michigan. I pretty much rove across the country because of dad's job." I explained.

"Well, as for me, I've been livin' _here_ ever since I was born _here_ . I went to all of my schools _here."_

" _All of your schools_? How old even are you?" I exhibited a puzzled look.

"Don't you see it? I'm a grown-ass man. I'm 30." he guffawed at his very own remark all of a sudden.

"No fucking way. If I'm on the square, I thought you'd be around twenty-something." his laughter stepped up further.

At this point, I could barely restrain my urge to ogle at Dean palpably. He seemed way too precious whilst busting out a peal of laughter. He had a dark green t-shirt with a spiffy brown cargo jacket on top.

"Well, I'm flattered. How about you?" he said with alacrity.

"17," I uttered in a clipped voice.

"So, we're talking about an age difference of thirteen years here, huh? Despite that, I get well along with you, don't I?"

"Pretty much, sir," I chipped away at him.

"Don't _sir_ me, kid."

"Don't _kid_ me."

_To be continued..._


End file.
